A Dark Moment.
April 2, 2009
time is like water
no matter how may times the glass is filled
you will always thirst
the glass will always empty
you will always starve for the sun
and weep for the stars
when even the birds cannot fly
raise your hands to the sky’s
when death seems to be you’re only friend
always watching
always waiting
a true friend
that will wait
never leave you
until you find a way to him
The Common House Plant.
April 2, 2009
I a living thing?
Dry. Cracked. Brittle
Withered leaves that have browned and curled.
A crooked stem weak and marred.
Dry. Cracked. Brittle.
When the sun shines in from window panes I stretch my variegated hands to soak it all in.
Dry. Cracked. Brittle.
It rained today I could almost taste it on my lips.
Dry. Cracked. Brittle
I miss my home where the sun would shine and the rain would fall.
I could stretch my feet as far as I could.
taken from my home imprisoned in porcelain with desert sands trapped around my feet.
Dry. Cracked. Brittle.
Once a year I bloom this is when I smile.
Dry. Cracked. Brittle.
Forgotten.
